


there's no reasons, no excuses

by thesmallestacorn



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: 2008 Campaign Era (Crooked Media RPF), F/M, Favs runs for Senate, Future Fic, Genderswap, M/M, Political Campaigns, but not the campaign you're thinking of, lots of nostalgia for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-07 08:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesmallestacorn/pseuds/thesmallestacorn
Summary: Tommy wakes up with a problem.





	there's no reasons, no excuses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pasdexcuses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasdexcuses/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Not To Get Homoerotic About This](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14290794) by [pasdexcuses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasdexcuses/pseuds/pasdexcuses). 



> Remix of https://archiveofourown.org/works/14290794 by pasdexcuses  
> This was SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE. I’ve loved this fic from the moment I read it, have returned to it many times since then, and jumped on the chance to remix it!  
> Title from 20 Years Ago by The Civil Wars which, if I weren't lazy, would be the first song on a playlist for this fic cause it's kind of the theme here.  
> This takes place maybe 8-10 years from now when the boys are now fully middle-aged and American democracy is no longer in the toilet.  
> thanks for reading! And big thanks to Katie for looking it over.

 

“And now, without further ado, your next Senator from the great Commonwealth of Massachusetts, Jon Favreau!” Tommy claps loudly as Lovett gives Jon a brief onstage hug, then bounds off the stage to join him. 

 

“Nice job, Lovett.”

“Thanks, Tommy.”

Lovett’s curls are streaked with grey, much more than they used to be, though not nearly as much as Favs, who’s gone full salt-and-pepper. The House of Representatives will do that to a man, Tommy supposes. Imagine having to serve on a committee with Louie Gohmert. That alone probably accounts for about 50% of the greys. It suits him though. He looks dignified and handsome, the perfect model of a Senator in his form-fitting navy suit and light blue striped shirt, the top two buttons undone. 

 

“We live in one of the most prosperous nations on earth. There is no reason—none—that we should not be able to guarantee affordable, quality healthcare for every American. The American Dream cannot become a reality if you’re drowning in medical bills. When it costs $3000 just to walk into the emergency room. When life saving medication is hundreds of dollars. That’s why I believe, that to make the American Dream a reality for everyone, we need single payer healthcare.”

 

The crowd cheers loudly. Tommy writes down “HC” in the small notebook that he’s started carrying around to every campaign event, noting what lines get the biggest cheer so he can help Jon refine his stump speech. Jon doesn’t have a speechwriter, insisting on writing everything himself, but on the list of Tommy’s campaign manager duties is making sure that the speeches flow and that Jon is hitting the topics that resonate with people the most. Jon is a gifted politician, charismatic and compassionate, and sometimes Tommy feels like his job is a little too easy. Yes, he has to coordinate staff and plan events and messaging and talk to the media and deal with twelve million new things every day, but Jon makes it relatively painless. He doesn’t have to teach Jon how to connect with voters, or tell him to practice talking about the issues. He’s steeped in policy, answering questions at town halls with ease, but also managing not to sound rehearsed. If only every Democrat were like Jon. 

 

Tommy half-listens to the speech, watching birds circle overhead instead, having heard it a half dozen times this week already. He sounds like Obama, Tommy thinks. Always has, always will. Being the president’s “mindreader” doesn’t just go away. Jon crescendoes into the height of the speech, and Tommy mouths the words along with him, smiling.

 

“Thank you, Worcester!” Jon says to thunderous applause, and goes down into the front row to shake hands. Tommy glances at his watch. Five minutes behind schedule, not too bad. He’ll have to pull Jon away sooner than he wants. Jon loves shaking hands, listening to voters’ concerns and asking for their support. He’s charming and personable, empathetic and warm. Tommy grins as he goes over to force Jon back to the car so they can be something resembling on time to the next event. 

 

~~~

 

Tommy knows something is wrong as soon as his alarm goes off in the little Cambridge apartment he’s been renting. He can’t quite place it at first. It’s almost like he’s hungover? That’s not quite it. He rolls over onto his stomach, and something is in the way. He goes to push the pile of blankets out from under him, but instead of blankets under his chest he finds...what the fuck? He rolls back over and grabs at his...tits. He has tits. On his torso, there are a pair of breasts. Shit, shit. He puts a hand down his boxers, and sure enough, his dick is gone. He runs a finger over himself, feeling out the folds of his...he can’t bring himself to say it. Shock crashes over him like a wave, head pounding, stomach jumping. He rolls out of bed and goes to look into the bathroom mirror. Sure enough, the face that stares back at him is female. Her hair is cut in a bob that frames her narrow jaw, and her breasts hang loose above her slim waist. She looks like Tommy, but different. Like Tommy’s twin sister or something. He slaps himself to make sure this isn’t just a campaign-stress-induced dream. Nope. 

 

Tommy grabs his phone off his nightstand and googles “woke up female,” skimming the first few results. Apparently this happens sometimes, and usually seems to go away when you accept or admit something you’ve been denying. What does that mean? Climate change is real, he knows that. There’s a whole section on JonFavreau.com devoted to it. No, it probably means that you have to accept something about yourself, that would make more sense. After all, this is an intensely  _ personal  _ problem. He reads a piece from a woman who woke up male and only went back once she acknowledged she was a lesbian. Well, that’s not the problem, seeing as he’s been publicly bisexual for several years now. Whatever. He’ll figure it out eventually. 

 

He texts Jon “sick, not coming in today, sorry” and Jon quickly replies with “feel better :( ” so he makes some coffee (at least that’s the same) and pours a bowl of cereal. A stray cheerio falls down his shirt and gets caught between his boobs. Wild. He reads Twitter, retweeting a campaign video and liking a few tweets from supporters, trying and failing to pretend that everything is fine.

 

After a while he decides to stop delaying and goes to take a shower, which always makes him feel better. He feels out his new body a little more under the hot water, running his hands over the curve of his hips, giving his tits a few squeezes. Girl-Tommy is kinda hot. When he steps out of the shower, he wraps a towel around his body, noticing how the towel stays put on his chest. He puts on underwear, trying to pick a pair that fits well without a dick in the way, and grabs a few other clothes that sort of work on this new body. Whatever, it’s not like he’s gonna leave the house today. He brushes his teeth (again, thank god that’s still the same) and his hair, the brush catching on the tangled waves of his bob, staring at himself in the mirror. 

 

Tommy tries to get some work done, reading emails on his phone and responding to the important ones. He ducks his phone calls, because of course his voice is female now too. In between, he tries to think what he needs to accept to get back to normal, but can’t think of anything he’s denying. He tries drinking a couple shots of whiskey— maybe Drunk Tommy will have a revelation. That doesn’t do anything, so he goes into his nightstand and pulls out some weed and some rolling paper, fingers fumbling. He goes out on his balcony and lights the joint, coughing in the crisp November air. He forgot how cold it gets in Boston, despite having lived here for the first 18 years of his life. Getting high doesn’t provide any insights either, so he goes back inside and grabs a box of crackers from the cupboard, munching on them as he lies on the couch, defeated, mind hazy.

 

He figures he might as well try jerking off, since this is sort of a once-in-a-lifetime experience and there’s no telling how long it’s going to last. He slides back into bed, pulling off his shirt and underwear, and looks down at his boobs. They’re a nice size, smallish; he can hold one in each hand. He runs his fingers over them lightly, inhaling sharply when he reaches his nipples. So this is new. He was always sensitive there, but not like this. A tingly feelings shoots through his legs as he takes one between his thumb and index finger and rolls it back and forth. He runs his hand over his waist and his thighs, gives his ass a squeeze, learning his new curves, his heavy breaths loud in the quiet room.

 

This is the weirdest feeling. It doesn’t just feel like jerking off, because it’s not his body, it’s a woman’s body, and he’s gonna get her off, but it’s only him in his bed. It’s heady, and his head spins if he thinks about it too much, so he focuses on the physical sensations and tries to ignore the mental ones. He can feel himself getting wet, which is also a strange new feeling, and he slides two fingers along his pussy.  _ His pussy.  _ Lord, this is weird. It feels good though. He finds his clit again and tries to think about what he does when he’s with a women. Circles. Up and down. Some pressure, not too much. He tries a few different things until he figures out what feels best, and puts his right hand back on his tits, playing with his nipples again as he rubs at his clit. A few small moans escape his lips, and he speeds up, taking a couple fingers of his right hand and pushing inside himself. 

 

“Curl your fingers up more, babe,” he can hear his first college girlfriend saying, so he does, moving them around. It’s not entirely different from when he fingers his ass. He’s getting the hang of it now, hitting a good rhythm, and he can feel himself getting closer, tightening on his fingers. Jon slips into his mind, as he often does when Tommy does this, but instead of picturing their inexperienced blowjobs in hotel rooms in Cedar Rapids, he’s picturing Jon going down on him like this, licking into him, sucking on his tits and his clit. Jon, putting two, then three, fingers into Tommy, licking around them, lips sticky with Tommy’s come. He speeds up, breath coming in sharp huffs, hips bucking up onto his hand. In his imagination, Jon pushes his dick into Tommy, and Tommy comes with a groan, curled up on himself, fingers soaked.  _ Wow. _ Tommy puts his sticky fingers in his mouth, licking them clean. Not bad. A voice in his head shouts “multiple orgasms!” and Tommy dives back in, fingers working his clit, steadier and more confident than they were the first time. It takes a little longer than it did the first time, but soon enough imaginary Jon is rubbing Tommy’s clit while he sucks marks onto the side of Tommy’s neck and he comes again with a soft groan. So that’s fun. Good to know.

 

~~~

 

Tommy’s taken another shower to pass the time and is watching old episodes of the Office for something to do when a knock comes on the door. Shit. He stays quiet, hoping whoever it is will just leave.

“Tommy?” He hears Lovett’s voice. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“Tommy, it’s me, I brought you over some chicken soup I had in my freezer.”

 

He cannot deal with this right now. No one needs to find out. Especially not Lovett. No one can think he doesn’t have control over his life. He’s successful. He’s calm. He’s in charge. He’s Tommy Vietor, Obama NSC veteran, podcast empire cocreater, campaign manager. He’s not the kind of person this happens to.

 

“Tommy, I can tell you’re in there, I can hear the TV and you’re too OCD to leave the TV on when you leave the house. I know, I lived with you for three years.”

Tommy stays quiet. Maybe Lovett will think he’s asleep. His phone rings. It’s Lovett, probably trying to wake him up. He ignores it.

“Whatever, I have a key, I’m letting myself in.”

Shit.

 

There’s no time to run to his room— and Lovett would hear him anyway. He pulls a blanket over his bare legs and braces for impact.

“Hey, it’s me, I’m just—holy FUCK.”

Tommy looks at Lovett’s ear, because he can’t bring himself to look him in the eye.

“Tommy? Is that— is that you?”

“Yeah,” Tommy replies. His voice is soft and high pitched. 

“Uh...shit, I don’t know what to say.”

“Me neither, Lovett.”

“When— when did this happen?”

“When I woke up this morning.” It’s as if a stranger is speaking out of Tommy’s mouth.

“Wow, ok,” says Lovett, abandoning the chicken soup container on the kitchen counter and sitting down next to Tommy on the couch, unable to stop staring. 

“Yeah,” he says in a small voice. 

 

“Have you told anyone?”

“No. I’m hoping it will go away soon and no one will be any the wiser.” Tommy says, voice shaky. He can’t cry. Not now. “I, uh, I looked it up and apparently you need to accept something you’ve been denying and it will go away.” 

“Hm.” Lovett replies. “Can you think of anything?”

“I’ve been trying. I can’t figure it out. I even tried getting drunk, which didn’t work. And neither did getting high. Although I did succeed in eating half a family sized box of crackers.”

Lovett laughs. “Yeah, you always got the munchies really bad, didn’t you.”

Tommy nods, trying to pretend that this is a very normal occurrence and not a massive disaster. 

 

“Have you told Favs?” 

“No,” says Tommy, dejectedly. “I just texted him that I was sick.”

“You should tell him. He should know his campaign manager is—”

“Out of commission. That he’ll need a new one.” Tommy interrupts. 

“No.” says Lovett. “Not at all. Who says you’re out of commission. You can manage a campaign as a woman, no problem. Come on Tommy, be a feminist.” 

Tommy laughs, the first time he’s done so all day. It sounds ridiculously high pitched in his head.

“I don’t want to become the story, though. Even if I was fine with everyone finding out, which I’m not, I would become the story and distract from the press coverage.”

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lovett. “But you can still work from home. You just need to tell everyone you’ve injured your leg or something and can’t drive. That’ll work.”

“Okay,” says Tommy, sounding calmer than he feels.

“But you have to tell Favs the truth. And hey, this will probably fix itself pretty soon.”

He’s right. Tommy knows he’s right. But he can’t admit this defeat to Favs, doesn’t want Favs to think less of him, to judge him.

“Fine. Fine, I’ll tell him.”

 

Lovett pulls out his phone and calls Jon. 

“Shit, now?”

“Yes now, what, were you planning on waiting til next Tuesday?”

Tommy hears the phone ringing and then faintly “Hey Lovett, what’s up?”

Lovett puts the phone on speaker. 

“I’m at Tommy’s house.”

“How is he?”

“He’s, um...well, he’s not exactly sick.”

“Playing hooky again, Vietor?” Favs teases. 

Lovett looks at Tommy. Tommy takes a deep breath and replies, “no.”

“Who’s that?” Jon asks. “Wait, what’s going on?”

Tommy takes another breath, puts his hand on his wrist to feel his pulse and try to calm himself like his therapist told him to. “Jon, it’s me, Tommy. I, uh, woke up this morning and, uh...Houston, we have a problem.”

 

~~~

 

For the fourth morning in a row, Tommy wakes up and has a brief moment of hope before realizing that everything still feels wrong and then putting a hand on his chest to confirm that yes, he still has tits. He turns on local news and is glad to see a story about Jon’s campaign stop yesterday, then makes himself coffee and answers some emails. The official story is that he fell down some stairs and sprained his ankle (thus he cannot drive to work) and mildly fractured his jaw (thus cannot talk on the phone). People seem to have bought it, and so far the truth is known only by the Jons. 

 

He went out for the first time yesterday, to get a few groceries and go to Dunkin (though not the one closest to him, because they’d recognize him there.) Add to the list of ‘things Tommy missed about Boston’ is a Dunkin every 100 feet. If he still lived in LA, his “different Dunkin” would probably be an hour away. Thank God for small miracles. Jon hasn’t actually seen him yet, but he said he’d come by this evening so they could talk strategy, and by talk strategy he means drink beer, watch the Pats game, and do their shop talk during halftime. Which means Tommy needs some clothes that fit. His hoodie and sweats has worked okay, but he doesn’t want to look like a complete schlub for Jon. (And, if he’s being really honest, he’d kind of like Jon to think he’s attractive as a woman.) 

 

He pulls on some clothes that marginally fit and gets in his car, pulling the seat forward a few inches. Female Tommy is about 5’8”, still tall for a woman, but several inches shorter than Real Tommy. He also weighed himself on his bathroom scale and found he’s 145 pounds. Well, there’s a quick way to lose weight! Just magically change your sex for no apparent reason. 

 

At the store, Tommy pulls up the latest note on his phone. He’d taken some measurements before he left and written down his approximate sizes based on some quick googling and struggles with the measuring tape.

 

Pants 30? 32?

Shirts medium ish

Bra 34B? C? Maybe 36

 

He goes for pants first. A couple pairs of jeans to try, though he just needs one. This is temporary, he reminds himself. He tries a few on, finds one that seems to fit, and turns to look in the mirror. They hug the curve of his ass quite nicely.  _ Jon will like that _ , a voice in his head says. He pulls back on his sweats and looks for a couple shirts. He had thought maybe he could just wear his normal button downs, but they were too tight over his chest and way too long. He grabs a pile of shirts in various sizes, then realizes he should probably try them with a bra, and ventures timidly into the lingerie. He’s always been intimidated by this section, whenever he’s gone with a girlfriend or to buy a gift. So much lace, in so many strange patterns. He’s quickly learning that women’s clothing is a vast and complicated adventure, much more so than men’s. He grabs a few of the more basic-looking bras in several sizes and self consciously tries them on. He looks hot in the light blue one, he has to admit. It’s pushing his boobs together in a nice way. He’d hit on himself. He grabs a pack on panties on the way to the shirts for good measure.

 

Back home, Tommy pours himself a gin and tonic. He’s earned it. That was definitely the most stressful shopping experience of his life. He downs it in four large gulps, gin warming his chest, and pours another one, then goes to change into his new clothes.

 

The woman in the mirror looks back at him in her underwear, and Tommy cocks his hip, tosses his hair over his shoulder. She’s kind of pretty. He imagines Jon seeing him like this, in his new underwear, running his hands over Tommy’s newfound curves, leaving bite marks on his breasts, kissing the inside of his thighs. He gets too turned on by this thought and strips off the underwear, pressing his finger onto his clit. He’s definitely made the most out of the situation in this aspect, at least. And, added bonus, he’ll probably be really good in bed with women after this. He can picture it now: ‘God, Tommy, fuck, how’d you get so good at this.’ He laughs in spite of himself and comes. 

 

~~~

 

Tommy keeps looking nervously at his watch as 6:30 approaches, even though he knows for sure that Jon will be late. 6:30. 6:31. 6:35. He goes to look in the mirror again and run his hairbrush through his hair one more time, putting a little water on it to give his hair the right tousled, casual look, as if he hasn’t spent most of the day preparing for Jon’s imminent arrival. He brushes his teeth one more time and goes back to the couch, trying desperately to look normal. What does he usually do with his arms? Twitter, that’s what he does. He grabs his phone and opens it, finding the clip from the news this morning and retweeting it. 6:43. There’s a knock at the door, and Tommy jumps up, stomach flipping. He’s not sure why he’s so nervous. Jon knows the situation. He takes one last deep breath and opens the door. 

 

“Hey,” Tommy says, nonchalantly. Jon claps him on the back.

“Hey.”

Jon looks him up and down. Tommy tries to suck in his stomach and push out his boobs without it looking like that’s what he’s doing. 

“Wow.” Jon says, quietly. “It’s really, you’re really…”

“Yeah,” replies Tommy. 

“It’s weird, you still look like yourself. But…”

“Yep.”

“You make an alright girl, Vietor,” laughs Jon, and puts their takeout down on the counter. 

“Thanks,” Tommy says, cheeks burning. 

 

They eat and watch the game in near silence, breaking only to yell at the refs a few times. Tommy tries to drown his sorrows in kebabs, and imagine that it’s just a normal night and they’re watching the game together like they always do. He can feel Jon’s eyes on him, and he wishes he could know if it’s Jon checking out his new body or  _ checking out his new body.  _

 

At halftime, Tommy says “okay, we need to do a bit of work,” and Jon reluctantly agrees, so they work out some messaging for the next few weeks, Tommy pulling up some emails from Lovett about what’s getting the most engagement on social media. 

“Your social numbers are great, Jon. The internet loves you. Let’s keep doing what we’re doing. Keep talking, keep being yourself.”  _ And keep looking like that. America loves a handsome white man.  _

“We’re getting better at figuring out what to promote and when, but don’t worry yourself with that, Lovett and the comms team have it under control. Now, we need to decide about debates.”

 

They do a little more work, then Jon turns the game back on and Tommy goes to get them more beers, wondering if Jon is looking at his ass in his new jeans as he walks to the fridge and bends down to grab the bottles. He can see Jon’s eyes flick to his chest as he walks back over, but marks it down to novelty rather than genuine attraction. 

“So how is it? How are you doing?”

“I’m alright, considering. I bought some clothes today, and I went grocery shopping yesterday. And I’ve been able to do some work, which is good. I hope you’re ok without me there, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” says Jon. “It’s beyond your control, and you’re still doing work, just from home rather than HQ. It’s fine. Thank you so much for staying, though, I really don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Honestly, it’s a good distraction,” mutters Tommy, and Jon chuckles. “It’s been fine, though. I’m glad I didn’t quit. I was going to, but Lovett convinced me not to.”

“Thank God for Lovett.”

“Yeah?” asks Tommy.

“Yeah. We need you. I need you.”

Tommy tries not to kiss Jon right there, which is always hard whenever he says some shit like that.  _ I need you. _ The man is stupidly romantic and doesn’t even realize it. Honestly, he’s not sure how every person Jon meets doesn’t fall head over heels for him immediately. Tommy did, after all. 

 

“So, you know,” Jon says, smiling, interrupting Tommy’s spiral of thoughts, “what’s it like to have tits?”

“Uh, it’s okay. They kinda get in the way sometimes. But I bought a bra, which stops them from bouncing when I walk down the stairs. Things I never had to think about until now.”

“Yeah?” Jon asks curiously, eyes flicking down to his chest again. 

“Yeah,” says Tommy, pulling up his shirt. It shouldn’t be a big deal, Jon has seen him shirtless plenty of times. Fuck, Jon has come on his bare chest. And yet. Jon stares at his boobs for a few seconds, taking in the lace trim of the bra. Tommy thinks he sees, out of the corner of his eye, Jon surreptitiously squirm as if adjusting himself in his pants.

“Yep,” says Tommy, too casually, replacing his shirt. “Tits.”

 

“So,” Jon says, after a pause, “have you—are you—have you thought about, you know, having sex? Might as well take advantage, I guess. I mean, I don’t know.”

“Maybe,” replies Tommy. “You’re right, I might as well take advantage. Once in a lifetime opportunity and all that. I, you know, tried it myself a few times.”

“Yeah?” Jon asks. Tommy can’t look at him. “And—?”

“It was pretty good. Different than normal, you know. I’ve basically figured it out by now, though. I mean, I knew the theory, obviously, I’ve just never done it from this side.” They both giggle.

“It’s a little weird though,” Tommy continues. “Cause, like, it’s not my body. Doesn’t feel like mine. And yet, it is? I don’t know. Whatever, it feels good. And, you know, you can do it multiple times in a row.”

“Right,” says Jon, surely ignoring the flush of Tommy’s cheeks. 

“But, yeah, I think I’ll try sleeping with someone. Might as well.” 

“Sure,” says Jon. “Man or woman?”

“I don’t really care,” says Tommy, truthfully. “There’s no reason female Tommy can’t be bi too.” 

Jon laughs and takes another sip of beer. The Pats are down by a field goal, and Tommy turns back to the game, as if to signal I Don’t Want To Talk About This Anymore, Let’s Just Act As Normal As Possible.

 

~~~

 

The next night, Tommy googles ‘lesbian bar cambridge’ and decides to go to the first one that pops up. It’s about time, Favs is right. He’s wearing his new bra and new jeans and new underwear and new shirt. He finds some TV makeup in his bathroom cabinet, which he lightly dabs over his face. There’s also a lipstick a hookup had once left there that he’s been meaning to throw out for ages. He takes it and carefully applies it to his lips, smacking them together like he’s seen women do until they’re satisfyingly covered in the light nude-pink. That’s as much as he can handle right now.

 

He calls a Lyft and taps his fingers nervously on his knee while they drive, staring out the window at the passing streetlights. They ride in silence (Tommy thinks he might puke from nervousness if he opens his mouth) and instead he spaces out, spiraling in his thoughts again. 

“Thanks,” says Tommy, and hops out of the car. The cold air stings his eyes and makes them water, and he’s grateful he didn’t attempt any eye makeup. Small miracles. He checks his appearance in his phone one more time then pulls open the door to the bar. Being Friday, it’s crowded, with groups of women on barstools and in booths, music playing over the speakers, some people dancing. He finds an open seat near the end of the bar and orders his customary gin and tonic. 

 

“That’s my go-to as well,” a voice says from behind him, and he turns to see a tall woman in extremely tight jeans and laced up knee-high boots. Tommy feels underdressed in his sneakers. Her long dark curls have a purple streak, and her eye makeup matches the purple almost exactly. That’s an impressive level of put-togetherness that even not-wrong-gender-Tommy can’t usually manage. 

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. His voice still sounds so strangely high, he can’t get used to it.

“This seat taken?” she asks, tone clear. 

“Nope,” Tommy answers. “I’m Tommy, by the way.” He’s decided just to use his real name, even if the only female Tommy he can think of is that horrible Fox News lady. And she’s Tomi. Whatever. 

 

They chat for a while, Tommy leaving his job description as ‘I work in politics’ and trying to act like he goes to lesbian bars all the time. He tries to stay present, to focus on this beautiful woman, but he keeps thinking back to when he and Jon would go to bars together in DC, Jon picking up straight 10s almost every time, always the master flirt. Women couldn’t help falling for his charm, wit, and lofty language. Thinks about when he and Jon would go out in Chicago on the campaign trail, on cold nights like this one, taking solace in the corner booths and too many beers, stumbling back through the snow to the flophouse to exchange lazy handjobs where they couldn’t quite look each other in the eye, no matter how drunk they were. Gab (‘short for Gabriela’) is talking to him and he isn’t taking in what she’s saying, but he nods at what he hopes are the right moments, smiling and touching her arm occasionally. 

 

“Wanna go dance?” she asks, and Tommy nods and drains the last of his drink. They end up in a back corner of the dance floor, the only space they can find, and Tommy dances with his hands on her waist. He can smell her sharp perfume as she leans in and kisses him, lips parting on his, and Tommy tries to embrace it. At least kissing feels the same as it did when he was a man. The pressure of the other person’s mouth, their tongue licking wet against yours, hand tangled in her hair. They make out for a bit, her lips trailing down his neck, and then she nips below his ear and whispers, “want to get out of here?” 

 

Tommy hesitates. He should say yes, he knows. Again: once in a lifetime opportunity. How different is lesbian sex than it is when he fucks a woman normally? How does it feel to have sex as a woman? And she really is pretty. But it feels wrong. He’s not a woman. It’s lying to her to say yes. Gab likes a woman named Tommy, who has nice tits and a high voice and a pleasantly curvy waist. She likes her. Not him. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m really sorry, listen, you’re great, and this was great, but I can’t. It’s really complicated. I couldn’t explain if I tried. I have to go.” 

 

He leaves her and rushes outside, walking quickly down the block to calm down. Fuck. This was an unmitigated disaster. He finds a 24-hour convenience store, buys a coffee to clear his head, and orders a Lyft back home while he drinks it, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. 

 

~~~

 

The next night he tries a different bar, wondering if his quandary is only with woman, but it most certainly is not, and the same thing happens. This guy (Jack? Jake?) is grinding up on him, which feels objectively good— Tommy likes the feeling of a hard dick up against him—but he can’t get into it. The guy kisses his neck, his hands on Tommy’s waist, and asks him to come back to his place, and Tommy hesitates before freaking out again and leaving. Back at his apartment, he calls Favs and tells him the predicament. 

 

“Hey dude, what’s up?” says Favs. He sounds a little tipsy as well, and Tommy can hear his TV on in the background.

“I just, fuck, man. I tried to get laid, I really did, I almost sealed the deal last night with this girl, and then almost tonight with some guy, but I couldn’t go through with it.”

He hears Jon take a swig of beer and set his bottle down. “Why not?”

“I just, I felt like I was lying to them. Cause I’m not me right now. I don’t look like me. It felt wrong.” Tommy’s talking too fast. 

“Hm,” Jon says. “Yeah, I get that.”

“Yeah. Hey, well, at least I got close two nights in a row. Girl Tommy must be pretty hot.”

“Yeah, you are,” Jon says, words slightly slurred. 

Tommy’s heart pounds at the words, and, probably spurred on by the whiskey still coursing through his veins, he decides to broach the thought he’s been having since he ditched Gab last night. 

“Maybe, I don’t know, maybe if it’s someone I know and trust. Who, like, knows about the situation. Or someone I don’t mind telling.”

“Hm, yeah, that makes since.” 

“Cause, like, I want a good fuck, I do. I mean, it’s fun by myself, but, like, I wanna try...you know?” Tommy’s voice sounds shaky.

“Of course, for sure.” Jon’s beer bottle bumps against the table. Tommy can hear a laugh track from his TV, and what sounds vaguely like Chandler Bing.

“Are you watching Friends?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?” Jon asks, laughing. 

“I can hear it in the background,” replies Tommy. 

“Oh, ok. Yeah, I’m just blowing off some campaign stress. On my fifth beer of the night and rewatching a bunch of 90s shows. Seinfeld, Friends, Frasier. Gotta relive my teenage years sometimes, you know?”

“Sure,” says Tommy.

“Listen, dude, I think you’re probably right about it being someone you know. We can talk about it more tomorrow when I’m over at your place to work on the stump speech.”

Tommy’s heart is pounding so loudly he’s certain Favs can hear it through the phone. “Ok,” he manages to say. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” and hangs up the phone. The tiny part of Tommy’s brain that’s been chanting  _ Jon Jon Jon  _ since 2005 is louder than it’s been in a long time, echoing around his whiskey-soaked head until he falls asleep right there on his couch.

 

~~~

 

Tommy paces nervously around the apartment as he waits for Jon. He can feel himself getting sweaty and dashes back to the bathroom to wash his face and put on more deodorant.  _ He said you were hot. He all but said he’d sleep with you. Calm down.  _ Another voice in his head yells  _ I WILL NOT CALM DOWN! I MAY BE GETTING TO FUCK JON FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2008. JONATHAN FAVREAU. ME AND HIM. WHAT IF IT’S BAD. WHAT IF HE HATES ME. WHAT IF IT RUINS OUR FRIENDSHIP.  _ The first voice reminds him what his therapist said about not letting anxious thoughts take over, and second voice yells back NO like an impetuous toddler who’s just been told that they cannot have another cookie until they pick up their toys. His thoughts continue to do battle with each other as he mindlessly scrolls Twitter, listening for a knock at the door. It comes a few minutes later, and Tommy’s stomach makes another nervous flip as he rakes his fingers through his hair one more time and opens the door. 

 

“Hey,” Jon says, a note in his voice that Tommy can’t quite put his finger on. 

“Hi,” says Tommy, breathlessly, his throat catching. 

“So. Stump speech.”

“Yeah,” says Tommy. If he’s being honest, he’d completely forgotten about the actual reason Jon was coming over. 

 

They sit close on the couch like they always do, thighs brushing as they reword a couple things (“You should say ‘collected checks from Washington lobbyists’ instead of ‘special interest money,’ that’s boring”) and sip from their beers. Tommy tries to focus on work. He loves his job, he really does. Just not right now. 

 

“Alright, I think that’s okay for now,” Jon says. “The stump speech has been pretty well received so far, we don’t need a ton of changes.”

“Yeah,” says Tommy, nervous again now that they’ve gotten to the nonbusiness section of the evening. “Yeah.”

There’s an awkward silence, and then Jon takes a large sip of beer and says “I can sleep with you, if you want. I’m okay with that.”

Tommy almost chokes on his beer. He had figured Jon might offer, but he didn’t think he’d be  _ that _ direct. 

 

“Sorry,” Jon says, “is that weird? Am I wrong?  I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But from, you know, subtext, I had kind of guessed…”

“You’re not wrong, Jon,” Tommy interrupts. “I was kind of hoping you would offer, you know, you’re kind of my best option right now.” He attempts a small smile.

Jon smiles back at him. “And, you know, we’ve done it before. So hopefully it’s okay.”

Tommy manages to laugh. “Yeah, and hopefully I’ve gotten a little better at sex since age 27. Although probably not right now, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Jon asks. They’ve been steadily moving closer together, and now Jon slips his arm behind Tommy’s back and drapes his hand over Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy turns to curl up against him. 

“Yes. Thanks, man. I really owe you one,” Tommy says softly.

“Nah, it’s fine. You’d do this for me. This is how we are.” Tommy can feel the vibrations of his chest as Jon speaks, grounding him. “Okay?” 

 

“Yeah,” Tommy responds, and leans up to kiss him. Jon’s mouth is warm and soft, and Tommy revels in the feel of his lips for a few moments before he pushes forward with his tongue. Jon licks into his mouth, gently, then more insistent, and Tommy can’t quite suppress a small moan. Jon kisses like he does everything else, passionately and full of love, and Tommy feels like he’s drowning, drowning in the heat of Jon’s tongue against his and the soft embrace of his arms around Tommy’s waist and back.

  
  


Jon breaks off to kiss down Tommy’s neck, and he can feel himself getting wet. He always liked this. Jon nibbles at the same spot behind his ear that Tommy remembers him doing, and a rush of memories hits him, memories of making out in the flophouse back in Chicago, Jon leaving a trail of marks on his neck and Tommy running to the drugstore to buy concealer so Axe wouldn’t yell at him when he had to go on TV. Jon kissing each freckle on Tommy’s chest while he jerked Tommy off. Jon sucking on the head of Tommy’s dick while his finger pressed ever closer to Tommy’s ass, never quite pushing in all the way, because it wasn’t like that, no, they were just two bros helping each other out with the campaign stress. 

 

Tommy is overcome by an urge to cover Jon’s entire neck with hickeys, like he’s goddamn 18, to mark his pretty throat with bruises that will be seen by everyone on TV, so everyone knows that Jon is  _ his  _ again, but the campaign manager voice in his head fights it and eventually wins out. Instead he settles for biting lightly over Jon’s throat, small nips that feel good but won’t leave marks. He wanders down to safer territory, pulling down Jon’s worn Friend Of The Pod shirt to expose his collarbones, and sucks an angry red mark into the thin skin there. Jon moans, and Tommy leaves another one right below it, hand leaving Jon’s shoulder and snaking up the front of his shirt. 

 

He can feel Jon hard underneath him, pressing into his thigh, which feels fucking fantastic, except Tommy wants it pressing up into his pussy, so when Jon pulls back to strip off his shirt, Tommy shifts over so he’s on top of Jon and grinds down. 

 

“Fu-uuuck, Tom, do that again,” Jon groans, voice gravelly with arousal, and Tommy does, thighs straddling Jon’s.

He pulls back and says “bedroom?” His voice is so high pitched. It’s been a few days and still every time he opens his mouth there’s a brief moment of “who is that?” 

 

They walk quickly to Tommy’s room, shedding their shirts along the way. Jon shuts the door and pushes Tommy against it, hot and animalistic, biting at the join of his neck and shoulder. Tommy responds by pushing a thigh up for Jon to grind on, and he does, deep noises escaping his throat. 

“Fuck, Tom, take off your pants.”

Tommy does, sidestepping Jon so he has room. His underwear is soaking wet by now, and Jon groans as he extracts his right leg from his jeans. 

“God, fuck, you’re so damn hot.”

“Thanks?” Tommy says, unsure how to respond. 

 

Jon finishes pulling off his pants and grabs onto Tommy, and then lifts him up so he can carry him to the bed, Tommy’s arms automatically looping around his neck. They’re both laughing as Jon lays them on the bed. Tommy did this to him, once, and he’s not going to say it to Jon, but he may or may not still think about that several times a month. Jon’s almost caging him in with his body, a solid presence on top of him, and fuck, Tommy has never been this turned on in his life. 

 

Tommy can really feel Jon now, hard in his boxers against Tommy, and he wants to get a hand on him, but before he can Jon is pulling them to sit up so he can take off Tommy’s bra. Obviously Tommy never wore a bra back on the campaign trail, but he can imagine that Jon’s gotten more skilled at that too since then. 

 

“God fucking damn,” Jon whispers, staring at his breasts. “You have tits. Actual goddamn tits. That are, fuck—” Jon squeezes one gently “—so fucking perfect.”

“Yeah, what, did you think I was faking? I showed you the other day, did I not?”

“No, of course not, but—I’m just, sorry, overwhelmed. You’re so fucking hot.”

“Oka—unf!” Jon has started sucking on his nipple, gently and then adding pressure, eventually the slightest hint of teeth. His stomach is tight with arousal, fuck, who knew this felt so good? Jon pinches the other nipple, rolling it in his fingers as he bites above the other one, surely leaving a mark. 

 

“Fuck, Jon, feels so good.” Tommy can’t help looking down at Jon. He’s so fucking wet,  he needs something on his clit right now. He grinds up again, and Jon gets the message, rolling off Tommy for a minute so Tommy can take off his underwear. Tommy looks nervously up at Jon, exposed. Jon exhales loudly. 

 

Jon runs a hand up his thigh, then slowly teases at his pussy, touching lightly at his folds and making Tommy buck his hips up, chasing more. Jon’s taking his sweet time though, long, beautiful fingers making Tommy desperate for him. He grabs Jon’s other hand and sucks a few fingers into his mouth, tongue running around them, and as he does, Jon finally gets to where he needs him most and rubs lightly at his clit. Tommy moans loudly, can’t help it, this is all so much.

 

“How do you like it?” Jon asks, voice rough. “Show me how you’ve been doing it so I know.”

God, this is such typical Jon. He puts a hand between his legs, showing Jon how much pressure he’s been putting and how he likes pretty tight circles, fingers not moving too much.

 

“Okay,” Jon says, and takes his fingers out of Tommy’s mouth to push one into him while he plays at Tommy’s clit. 

“Holy fuck, oh my god, Jon, yeah, that, keep going. Fuck, baby, add another one, please, I need you.” Tommy can’t control himself, words spilling out of his mouth without any thought, the press of Jon’s finger up and in. He feels full, overwhelmed by Jon, everything about him, how he’s kissing Tommy’s tits as he does this, 

 

“Do you want another,” Jon whispers, and Tommy kisses him as an answer, too far gone for words. The long fuck of Jon’s fingers into him and the steady pressure on his clit are getting him close, and he moans “close—gonna—soon” to let Jon know. Jon has good rhythm, surely due to his musical training. It feels like Tommy’s the instrument, and Jon is playing him expertly, responding to his every move, speeding up then slowing down, and Tommy can feel his orgasm building, a familiar feeling in his abdomen. Jon changes the angle of his fingers, and Tommy pushes down into the bed and then up onto Jon’s fingers as he comes, mind blank. 

 

“Fuck,” Tommy says as he comes back down, taking a few gasping breaths. “You’re good.”

Jon smiles at that, always one for praise. “You want another?” he asks, taking his fingers out of Tommy and sucking on them, licking them clean. Tommy nods, and Jon scoots down the bed and nudges Tommy’s knees apart, settling between them. Even in the haze of orgasm, Tommy is still capable of nervousness, and he tries to ignore the murmurs of  _ will he like it. what does he think. _

 

Then Jon licks up his pussy and the thoughts shut up, because holy fuck, Jon is good. The way he’s licking lightly at Tommy’s clit while he teases his fingers in and out, never quite going in all the way where Tommy needs them, how he’s licking around his fingers into Tommy, top lip still working at his clit, damn near making out with his pussy. Tommy likes to think of himself as a somewhat skilled cunnilinguist, he’s been doing it for twenty five years, but he’s not sure he’ll ever be as good as Jon. Or maybe he is, there’s really no way of knowing. Maybe it just feels this good to get eaten out. Maybe he wouldn’t mind being female for a little while longer, so he can have Jon do this to him some more. 

 

Jon briefly stops sucking on his clit to ask how Tommy’s doing, lips shiny.

“Uh, fuck, I, fuck, I don’t even— even know what to say,” Tommy whispers, sentence broken by heavy breaths. He wonders if Jon likes the way he tastes.

“Is it okay? Is there something you need me to do?” 

“No, it feels really—really fucking good. I’m close, babe, please keep going, I need you.”

“Okay then.” Jon plants a soft kiss on his belly and starts rubbing Tommy’s clit again, Tommy’s legs twitching. 

 

Tommy’s never been loud during sex, but he can’t help himself right now. Jon fucks his tongue particularly deep into Tommy and he moans loudly, which Jon seems to be into. Seems to like making Tommy fall apart like this. 

 

“You wanna come?” asks Jon, and Tommy gasps “yes, please, I’m so close.” Jon dives back in, like it’s his one mission in life to make Tommy come, like nothing else matters or will ever matter again. Elections be damned. Jon gives a few more licks to his clit and Tommy lingers on the precipice for a few glorious moments before his hips jerk up against Jon’s face and he comes with a loud sigh.

 

Tommy pulls Jon up to kiss him, can taste himself on Jon’s tongue, and they lose themselves in kissing for a couple minutes before Jon pulls away and asks “can I fuck you?”

“God, yes, please. Condoms are in the second drawer.”

 

Jon rolls off him and fishes around for a condom, then pulls off his boxers. He’s hard as shit, dick sticking almost straight up against his stomach, and Tommy runs his hands over Jon’s waist and thighs before giving him a couple pulls. He still remembers how Jon likes to be jerked off, how he uses a little more pressure and goes a little faster than Tommy, how he liked it when Tommy played with his balls. 

“Fuck, Tommy, if you want me to fuck you for more than four minutes you have to stop. Feels too fucking good.”

 

Tommy gives him a couple more strokes before reluctantly pulling away and lying down again. Jon rolls the condom on and grinds against him a few times, face tucked in Tommy’s neck. 

“God, Jon, please, fuck me, I need you.” Tommy can’t believe how desperate he sounds. 

“Say it again” Jon groans.

“Fuck me, Jon.”

Jon moans again at that and pushes the head of his dick inside. 

“You good?” Jon asks. 

“Yea-ah, fuck. Go slow, I’m new at this.”

Jon lets out a small laugh and pushes in a little more. “Fuck, Tommy, you’re so tight. Feel so good. Fuck.”

 

Tommy hasn’t felt like this since—maybe ever. It’s a lot, the stretch of Jon moving slowly inside him, kissing him with increasing desperation. 

“Okay?” asks Tommy. 

“Yeah,” says Jon. “Yeah. I’m good. Fuck. I can’t believe I’m fucking you. But, like—”

“Yeah,” Tommy replies, as Jon starts pushing a little deeper. 

 

Tommy lets himself relax, feeling the rhythm of Jon’s thrusts and his breathing, Jon’s fingers on his clit again. He can see his tits bouncing, which—wow. Jon moves his hand and suddenly Tommy feels on the verge of coming again. He takes his face out of the crook of Jon’s neck and says “gonna—fuck.”

“Yeah,” moans Jon. “Yeah, fuck, do it.”

 

Jon pushes into him again and he comes yet again, tight on Jon’s dick. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears and, almost as if from a distance, his own cries. Jon follows him a minute later, hips stuttering forward, Tommy’s hands on his ass. Jon collapses on top of him and pulls out, rolls over to let Tommy breathe. 

“Holy fuck, Tommy, that was—”

“Yeah,” says Tommy, heart pounding, still not quite back to reality. “Yeah.”

 

Jon tosses the condom and ducks into the bathroom for a glass of water. Tommy’s still lying there, sweaty, when he gets back. He takes the glass with a “thanks” and sits up to drink it, Jon’s hand curled over his breast. 

“So, uh, can we do that again sometime?” Tommy jokes.

“Yeah,” Jon laughs. “In like, I don’t know, as soon as I can get it up again.”

“Okay,” Tommy smiles at him, and tucks himself against Jon’s warm chest.

 

~~~

 

Tommy can’t remember the last time he had this much sex. He’s been pleasantly sore all week, the pain in his legs and hips distracting him from the pain of not being able to work. He watches Jon on the TV and sees his social media posts, sends emails and texts, and then in the evenings Jon comes over and they fuck all over his apartment. Tommy rides him on the couch. He gives Jon a blowjob kneeling on the floor in the kitchen. One time he opens the door for Jon and Jon walks in, slams it shut, and pushes Tommy against it and fucks him right there. He’s never been on the receiving end of that, and goddamn if it isn’t the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him. He has bruises on his back and ass for days and he gets turned on every time he feels them, remembering Jon’s hips pushing him into the door, being lifted off the floor, legs curling around Jon’s ass and back. 

 

There’s a small part of him that keeps whispering  _ this is a bad idea, you’re going to fall in love with him if it keeps up like this, you know how you are, you can’t ever be casual _ , but he’s thinking with his pussy right now. Or, if he’s being technical, his amygdala and hippocampus. He’s not sure if it’s just because he’s experiencing sex in a whole new way but fuck, it’s the best he’s had in a long time. Maybe ever. Jon is good, really fucking good. He knows exactly what Tommy needs, can read him like a book. Does that come from spending the last twenty years of his life with Tommy? Or is that just Jon being Jon: considerate, passionate, eager to please. Loving. 

 

What he does know is that his crush on Jon is back in full force. Look, obviously Jon has always been attractive. Really attractive. Offensively handsome, as a profile once called him. And, somehow, he keeps getting hotter. Who looks better at 45 than at 25? It’s really not fair. It’s never been about his looks, though. Well, not only about his looks. He fell for Jon the first time Jon tried out a couple lines of a speech on him. How could a few dozen words in the right order make him feel that way?  _ Soaring _ is the word everyone always uses to describe Jon’s writing, and Tommy agrees. It makes him feel like he’s flying. Turned out that how he felt listening to Jon’s writing is how he felt listening to Jon all the time. He just has that effect on Tommy. Weight that Tommy doesn’t even realize he’s carrying is lifted off his shoulders when he’s with Jon. When people ask him to describe their relationship, he always feels like he’s selling it short. How do you say that someone feels like home, like your favorite soft blanket? Someone that just  _ gets you _ . Loves you for who you are. ‘Best friend’ doesn’t cut it. 

 

Which meant that when they kissed after a late night at the campaign office in 2007, it took approximately three days for Tommy to be stupidly in love with Jon. Not that he admitted that to himself at the time. And because he’s never admitted it to anyone, he’s never asked Jon how he felt about the whole thing. Was it just a couple of friends hooking up, because that’s what one does on the campaign trail? Or was it something more, like it was for Tommy? He assumes the former, because Jon’s never said anything that indicated it was anything more than fooling around. Then again, Tommy’s never told him just how much their stupid late-night handjobs meant to him. 

 

Whatever. Doesn’t matter now, because it’s been twenty fucking years, he got over it, and he has more pressing problems right now. Namely, why the fuck is he still female after ten days, and how the fuck is he supposed to get back to normal. He talked it through with Jon the other day, considering Jon probably knows Tommy better than Tommy knows himself at this point, and neither of them had been able to come up with some big revelation or deep dark secret. Although they hadn’t talked for that long before Jon started kissing Tommy’s neck again, then down his bare chest, and then they were fucking again, because why try to figure out  _ why  _ they’re able to do this when they can  _ do this.  _

 

Tommy’s been trying to ignore the small voice of doubt in his head, the one that says  _ he’s only doing this cause you’re a girl, he doesn’t feel like you do, he can make it through a day without thinking about how you fooled around half a lifetime ago.  _ Because he’s sure that it’s right, that as soon as he figures out what the fuck is going on and goes back to normal Jon’s going to drop it like he did after they won in ‘08, because it’s not like that. It’s not. This is just Jon blowing off campaign stress, and helping Tommy out because he cares, and also taking advantage of a… unique opportunity. And Tommy appreciates it, he really does. He likes having sex as a girl, and he sure as hell likes having sex with Jon. It’s just hard knowing that it’s all going to be over any minute now. So he’s maybe not so eager to switch back right away, despite his increasing annoyance at not being able to work.

 

God, why does he always have to fall so hard? And always for Jon. Always. His crushes and lovers and partners come and go, but somehow, he never quite manages to stop having feelings for Jon. He’s pushing fifty, you’d think he would have figured out how to deal with this by now. It’s going to be okay, he tells himself for the tenth time that day. Things will eventually, God willing, return to normal, and he’ll put aside his feelings like he always does and be an adult about it. 

 

~~~

 

His plan to Be An Adult And Deal With It, alas, does not go as planned. Instead, he has a bunch more sex with Jon and thinks about him literally all the time. He does, however, finally tell Lovett, when Lovett comes over for 30 Rock and tacos and spots the massive hickey on Tommy’s neck under his ear.

 

“Tommy,” Lovett says inquisitively, “either you ran into a tree branch at just the right angle and got a really weird bruise, or someone sucked on your neck.”

“What?” says Tommy sharply, instinctively covering his neck with his hand. He’d forgotten about that, from the other day when he and Jon had sex on his kitchen table and Jon had given him approximately 7 hickeys. The others, thankfully, are in a place where Lovett cannot see them. Even so, he takes a quick glance down to make sure his breasts are fully covered. 

 

“Who are you fucking, Tommy?”

“Uh,” says Tommy, hoping that perhaps he’ll just evaporate and never have to have this conversation with Lovett. 

“I know you had said you felt uncomfortable being with someone who doesn’t know about your—” Lovett gestures vaguely at Tommy “—situation. So either you got over that, told someone, or you’re fucking Favs.”

 

Tommy tries to look casual. 

“And knowing you, and knowing Favs…”

Tommy says nothing, listening to the clock tick on the wall. He can hear his own heartbeat, slightly off the rhythm of the second hand. 

 

“I’m just saying, you’re a very private person and probably wouldn’t want to tell anyone else. And you stick to your principles, which means you probably didn’t just get over being uncomfortable. And also Favs is head over heels in love with you, has been for as long as I’ve known him, and I think you probably feel the same way.”

“Wha—no—what? I—” Tommy sputters.

Lovett presses on. “So I think the two of you would jump at any excuse to sleep together without having to admit your feelings.”

“I’m not, he’s not, it’s not like that. He’s just— we’re— I’m—”

“So you admit you are sleeping together,” Lovett says, a sly smile on his face. He raises his eyebrows at Tommy. 

“Yeah, alright, fine, we are, but we’re not in love, good lord.” 

“Well, he’s in love with you, that much I can tell you.”

“No, he’s not,” Tommy says, attempting a firm and calm voice but failing miserably. He brushes his hair behind his ear nervously. “He’s not. He’s just fucking me cause he thinks I make a hot girl, and because I asked him for help and he’s a good friend and agreed.”

“He is a good friend, and would do literally anything for you, and I’m sure he thinks you make a hot girl, just like I’m sure he thinks you’re hot normally.” Lovett says, grabbing a chip out of the bag and chewing it loudly. 

“Why are you so sure he thinks I’m hot normally?” asks Tommy, pushing a piece of onion around his plate with his thumb.

“Have you seen the way he looks at you, Thomas?” 

Tommy says nothing. 

“And obviously he thought you were hot enough to fuck in 2007.”

“That was twenty years ago, who’s to say he still—hey, wait, how do you know about that?”

“Jon told me a long time ago. I thought you knew that I knew?”

“I don’t— I didn’t—” Tommy can’t fucking form a sentence right now. Everything is crashing around his ears. 

“I wonder if he knows that you didn’t know that I knew,” says Lovett, smiling. 

“This is like that episode of Friends I was watching with Jon the other night,” mutters Tommy. “When did my life become a sitcom?”

“Your life became a sitcom when you went to work in the White House, specifically the sitcom 1600 Penn, the greatest TV show known to mankind.”

Tommy laughs in spite of himself. 

 

“Whatever, Lovett, it’s irrelevant. Yes, Jon and I hooked up a few times when we were young and dumb. And we’re hooking up now because this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“And there’s no feelings attached? None? You, Thomas F. Horny-For-Commitment Vietor the Fourth, have no feelings for Jon. Not now, not ever?”

Lovett has him cornered. “Well, I won’t say  _ no _ feelings, but—”

“I knew you were in love with him!” Lovett is almost shouting at this point. 

“Did I say that?” Tommy yells incredulously. 

“I— you know what, I’m done with this conversation. Let’s go back to 30 Rock, please,” says Lovett, voice returning to normal.

 

“Actually, can we turn on local news for like ten minutes? I want to see any campaign coverage there is.” Tommy tries to talk calmly.

Lovett wordlessly grabs the remote and switches to the news. 

“...our reporter was on the ground with the Favreau campaign today. Andrew, tell us what you saw today.”

“Perfect timing,” says Lovett. 

Andrew talks to a few supporters at the event, one in a Friend of the Pod shirt, and then there’s a clip from the speech. Jon looks handsome as ever, and Tommy watches his hands for a few seconds, thinking  _ if only they knew where those pretty fingers were last night, _ remembering Jon pressing up into him, making him come tight around his hand, and then taking out his fingers and licking off Tommy’s come, obscenely, almost as if he were sucking…

 

“And I know,” says Favs-on-screen, and Tommy jolts back to reality, “that America is a place where all things are possible. But we need to work for it. For the enduring power of our ideals. This is the promise of America— that America can change. This is the chance for our vision of America. 

Tommy looks up at the ceiling and smiles. “God,” he whispers, tongue between his teeth. 

“Hmm?”

“Motherfucker’s quoting lines from Obama’s victory speech.” Tommy murmurs. 

“Of course he is,” laughs Lovett. 

 

Tommy would know it anywhere. That night is etched in his memory, Jon running over a few last changes with him, the election being called, he and Jon sharing a victory kiss, listening to the speech and crying, because they’d done it, they really had, and goddamn if Jon’s words weren’t the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. 

“Fuck,” whispers Tommy. 

 

~~

 

“Hey,” says Tommy, opening the door for Jon. It’s been an emotional 24 hours, and pretty sleepless too, but he tries not to let it show too much. 

“Hi,” says Jon, running a hand up and down Tommy’s arm. It feels almost electric. “How are you?”

“Um,” Tommy stops. How the fuck does he even begin to explain.  _ Oh, I realized I’ve been in love with you for two decades. Nothing much. How was your day, man? _ “It was...yeah. I, uh, can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure,” says Jon, cheerfully. 

“Actually,” Tommy says, “can we talk a walk? I need some air.”

 

They go to Dunkin, because that’s what they do, it’s what they’ve done since the first day they met in the Senate office and Jon said he was gonna go get some coffee, did Tommy want to come, and Jon went to Dunkin and Tommy knew immediately he’d made a friend for life. Jon plays with the straw of his coffee with his tongue, unconsciously, probably, just like how he’ll put a finger in his mouth without noticing. Him and his dumb hot mouth. Tommy wants it, wants Jon’s mouth on his nipples and his neck, wants to shut him up with his dick if he ever gets it back. And if Jon wants it. Which, knowing Tommy’s luck, he probably doesn’t. But it’s worth a try anyway. Now or never, Vietor. 

 

“I,” he says, and his voice comes out hoarse. He clears his throat and tries again. “Jon, I think I should probably ask you at this point, probably should have done it sooner, but.” He takes a deep breath and another sip of coffee, swallows. “Are you, are you just sleeping with me because I’m female? I mean obviously that’s how it started, but, like, if I went back tomorrow, would this stop?” He slurps at his coffee, and Jon looks down at him through his long eyelashes. “Because if so, I— I wouldn’t want, I don’t want—” Fuck, he rehearsed this. 

“No,” says Jon simply. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“So it’s not, it’s not just a one-off, it wasn’t just you fucking me on the campaign cause we were dumb and horny and too lazy to go get laid, and it’s not you fucking me now cause I look like this? Cause I want, I don’t want to stop.” All the words are rushing out of his mouth at once and he can’t stop them, can’t stop and breathe and look at Jon. 

 

“No, fuck, Tommy, no. I,” Now it’s Jon’s turn to rush through his words, though, knowing Jon, he’ll be much more eloquent than Tommy ever can be. “I— I fucking fell in love with you, then, in the Senate, the campaign. And I don’t know if I ever fell out of it. It’s just kind of become a fact of my existence. Background noise. Oh yeah, there’s Tommy, who I’m in love with.”

 

They’ve stopped walking, and Tommy turns to look at him, throat working. “You, you, you love me?”

“I, yeah, I do, I think I do.”

“Fuck, Jon.” He wasn’t going to do this, he wasn’t going to cry, no matter how well or how poorly it went, but there are tears in the corners of his eyes anyway. “I love you too. That’s, I, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Really,” Jon says, laughing, and Tommy can see where the greys at his temples catch the streetlight. “Really?”

“Yeah,” says Tommy, and now he’s laughing too. “Yeah, I realized it last night. Watching you give a speech on TV. Well, and Lovett tried to convince me of it too, turns out he was right, no matter how much I yelled at him.”

“Took you long enough,” Jon teases, teary. 

“Yep, oh fuck, I’ve been in love with Jon Favreau for half my life, oops!” Now they’re both laughing hard, Jon almost doubled over. Fuck, they probably look so dumb, drops of Jon’s coffee spilling out of his straw, but he doesn’t care, Jon loves him back. 

 

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” says Jon, matter-of-factly, and sets down his coffee. Tommy copies him, and reaches up and grabs Jon’s face with both hands. Jon wraps an arm around Tommy’s waist and threads the other through his hair and kisses him. Jon, who loves him, is kissing him, not just because of his nice new tits, and Tommy is kissing him back, not because they’ve just finished rushed handjobs and it seems like they should, but because he loves Jon. 

 

“God, Tommy.”

“Yeah,” says Tommy, cause he can’t say anything else right now. 

“You wanna go back? It’s kind of cold,” Jon offers, and retrieves his coffee.

“Yeah,” repeats Tommy, dumbly. Will his brain ever work again? Who knows. 

 

They go back and make out on the couch like they’re in high school, Tommy peppering in  _ I love you _ as he kisses up and down Jon’s neck. They fall asleep tangled together before they even get a chance to fuck. Tommy’s just so tired, emotionally and physically. It feels like everything has been wrung out of him. He could get used to it, falling asleep in Jon’s arms, a warm and steady presence lulling him to sleep.

 

~~

 

Tommy wakes up with the morning light peaking through the curtains, and as soon as he shifts he knows something’s different. His chest feels lighter, and he can’t feel hair brushing his shoulders, and god fucking damn, there’s his dick. 

 

“Jon!” Tommy almost shouts, voice rough and deep. “Jon, wake up!”

“Hhmpff?”

“Jon, look?”

Jon opens one bleary eye, then the other, and breaks into a big smile. “You’re back.”

Tommy can see the gap between his front teeth. “Yeah.” He runs a hand over his face, then his back and chest. Square jaw, muscles in his shoulders, no tits. 

 

Jon grabs his face too, relearning the angles of his jaw and cheekbones. “Fuck, I missed you. Female Tommy was pretty cool, but nothing beats the original.” 

He plants a soft kiss on Tommy’s lips, and Tommy opens his mouth for him, even though both their mouths are disgusting right now. Jon runs a hand over his hipbones and his ass, and Tommy grinds down against him. 

 

“Fuck,” groans Tommy. It’s weird having his voice back. “You know what I wanna do?”

“What?” Jon asks, smiling at him. 

“I really fucking wanna jerk off.”   
“Okay,” says Jon, and unbuttons Tommy’s pants. He’s still wearing the underwear he put on yesterday, and it really doesn’t fit with his normal body. His dick is poking out the side. Jon pulls them off too, and puts a hand around him. Fuck, it feels so good. 

“Mind if I help you, love?”

“Of course,” Tommy replies. 

 

~~~

 

1 year later

 

“Nothing we can do now, honey, just one more event tomorrow and then watching the returns.” Tommy tries to speak in a soothing tone, but Jon’s bouncing his knee up and down and biting the nail of his index finger. 

“I know, I know.”

“It’ll be fine, polls are good, we ran a great campaign.”

“You ran a great campaign,” Jon retorts, kissing him lightly on the forehead. 

“Candidate makes the campaign,” Tommy says, kissing him back. “You wanna just watch West Wing or something?” 

 

They put on a State of the Union episode, because Jon likes the speechwriting ones (“I saw it and thought ‘that’s what I want to do’”) and Tommy rubs slow circles on his back until Jon calms down. They watch, cuddled together on the couch as always.

On screen, Bartlet is telling the designated survivor what to do. 

“If he tells you he wants to bring out the National Guard, do what he tells you. You got a best friend.”

“Yes,” says the Secretary of Agriculture. 

“Is he smarter than you?”

“Yes sir,” the Secretary says, and Tommy sees Jon mouth the words out of the corner of his eye. He smiles. He and Jon have probably watched this episode together 4 or 5 times. 

“Would you trust him with your life?”

“Yes sir,” and this time, Jon whispers it along with him. 

“That’s your chief of staff.”

 

Jon turns to look at Tommy, big brown eyes, and raises his eyebrows. Tommy sighs. 

“Yeah, alright, fine. It’s a good thing you’re so handsome.”

“I love you too,” replies Jon.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for making it through all 12k of this fic--by far the longest thing I've ever written. 
> 
> “Offensively handsome” http://www.eclectablog.com/2017/11/this-pod-could-be-your-america.html  
> TWW quote from He Shall From Time To Time https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0745631/quotes  
> Assorted lines from Obama’s 2008 victory speech http://edition.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/11/04/obama.transcript/


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